


Every Second Dripping Off My Fingertips

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depression, Forced Kissing, Hallucinations, Kate Argent Warning, M/M, Not-a-Ghost-Kate, Prompt Inspired by a Gif, Supernatural is Slightly Known, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Werecat Stiles, companion stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: Six months ago, Derek was working as an underling in his sister Laura’s business when the person he shared a cubicle with turned to him and changed his life forever. Now Derek spends his days either sleeping or dodging his sister’s attempts at un-derailing his life or both. Enter Peter and his propensity for shitty gifts.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 15
Kudos: 153
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	Every Second Dripping Off My Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NadiaHart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart/gifts).



> Title comes from _Somewhere a Clock is Ticking_ by Snow Patrol.
> 
> Prompt was inspired by [this gif](https://stiles-aka-biles.tumblr.com/post/93688083092/when-you-realize-nogitsunes-are-cats) and is paraphrased here: Derek becomes a recluse and Laura and Peter step in to try to get him to leave his house/apartment but Derek can work from home and he can order food/groceries to be delivered. After a few failed attempts, they start showing up more often, and then Peter shows up with a cat (or fox) kid (supernatural is known) and tells Derek that he now has a Stiles. Stiles is a little shit, annoying and charming by turns, he smells great, is rude, and messes things up. He also makes Derek try new things and then Stiles gets sick or something and Derek has to go outside to get help.

* * *

Laura threw open the curtains, letting in the bright light of day.

Derek groaned, turning over and burying his head under his pillows. Laura snorted at him, yanking his blanket off.

“Get up,” she said sharply.

Derek groaned again and did not comply.

He was a werewolf, dammit. He was supposed to be nocturnal. Just because Laura had taken pity on him and had given him a position in her company, she thought she could run his life too?

“I’m calling in sick,” he told her.

She sighed. “No you’re not. Get up.”

He ignored her. But Laura was not one to be ignored for long, and she grabbed his ankles to haul him off the bed.

“Get up,” she snarled in his face, her teeth a little too sharp, eyes flashing red.

He flashed his eyes in response, and she pulled back, blinking at him.

Of course the fact that his eyes weren’t yellow anymore would give her pause. Hell, his eyes still gave him pause most days too.

Derek could still feel the warm, sticky blood on his hands. Could still taste the fear and anger from that night nearly six months ago.

He hadn’t told Laura about it, but he knew that she knew. She hadn’t talked to him about it yet, but the way she had taken a sudden interest in his life after that night, it couldn’t be long off.

Laura was impatient, and Derek’s reticence to leave his apartment was grating on her. She had even drafted their uncle to help her draw Derek out.

To his credit, Peter hadn’t been as invested in Derek as Laura was and as such hadn’t yet darkened Derek’s door.

That was certain to change since, according to the emails from the office, Peter was due back in the country this week. Laura would bring him here, Derek was positive.

He didn’t care and told Laura as much as she continued to drag him into his bathroom.

“You smell like sadness and guilt,” she returned, shoving him headfirst into the shower and cranking on the cold water.

Derek spluttered, letting her scrub roughly at him. Every once in a while, she’d get the desire to alpha him, and he had found the easiest course of action was to let her. Eventually, she’d get tired or have to go to work, and he could slink back to bed, answer a few emails on the company laptop Laura had commissioned for him, and sleep the rest of the day away.

Right after he closed his curtains again.

“You need to actually show up to the office.” The soap she poured on him was the scented crap given as a gift by their annoying sister. Derek was beginning to like Cora more and more the longer she lived in South America and stayed in South America. Laura wrinkled her nose but didn’t pause in washing him.

“Seriously, you need to get your life back on track.”

“My life is on track.”

“The fact that you can’t even look at me when you say that tells me it’s a lie more clearly than the way your heart skipped a beat.”

Derek rolled his shoulders. He stood, cranking the hot water on and washing off the soap. He decided he could stand to smell like strawberries far longer than Laura could stand smelling him and started the waiting game.

Laura sighed, checking her watch. She glared at it and then at Derek. “You win,” she spat. “I have to go. You need to come in to the office tomorrow.”

“Or you’ll fire me?” he asked hopefully.

She sighed again, running the back of her hand over his neck, grimacing at the chemical smell of his body soap. “No, Derek, I won’t fire you. I’ll just stage another intervention.”

Like that would scare him.

He’s survived the first few; he’d survive this one too.

Laura’s interventions usually involved her staring at him while she ate junk food. Once or twice, she’d tried dragging him outside. Joke was on her though since the only way out of his apartment was the elevator—or climbing down the side of the building—and the elevator had suspiciously been out of order for the last five months.

“I’ll see you after 5:00 tonight,” Laura told him, wrenching open the window by his bed. She tapped her watch and then descended out of view.

Derek didn’t even wait for her to make it back down to her Camaro before he slammed the window shut, pulled the curtains shut, and stripped down to nothing.

He returned to the shower to wash off the strawberry scent before finding a semi-clean pair of boxers and climbing back into bed to finish his nap.

He dreamed again of that night, of the blood under his claws, of his fangs tearing through human flesh. Of the bullets deep in his body, the pain they inflicted as he breathed, standing over the woman he’d torn to shreds when she attacked him unprovoked.

It wasn’t anything new.

~ * ~

Derek woke up again when Peter dropped onto his bed, crossing his legs as he settled next to him.

Peter wrinkled his nose. “You stink,” he said, insulted.

Derek grunted, rolling over so that his back was facing Peter. His uncle did not take the hint any better than Laura had this morning…It was still this morning, right? More often than not, Derek found he couldn’t keep his days apart. He would worry about it except Laura did enough worrying for the both of them.

Peter grabbed his shoulder. “Come on, Derek, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Why do you think something’s wrong?”

Peter snorted. “Something has to be wrong when Laura calls me, saying you haven’t actually stepped foot in the office in three weeks.”

“Has it been three weeks?” Derek asked dispassionately. He honestly thought it’d been longer. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he left his apartment. Even for groceries. Not after he discovered that his favorite grocer would deliver for a few extra bucks a week.

Food was easy for Derek—just eat vegetables. Nothing that required more energy than chewing. He knew Laura would bring things with her. Sometimes, he could muster the energy it required to cram more steaks that he was never going to cook into his freezer, but more often, Laura would have to throw away the things that had gone bad. Sure, Derek could eat raw meat, but he was reminded too often of the night he had been forced to kill a hunter.

“Up you get,” Peter said, standing, drawing Derek with him. “It’s time to wash your sheets. If you don’t have the energy to wait, you can lay on the couch.”

“Lie,” Derek corrected blandly, shuffling to drop down onto the couch. He tugged half-heartedly at a blanket draped over the cushions, whining when it stuck.

Peter stifled his laughter, bending over Derek to pull the blanket free. He tucked it around him, brushing a light kiss to Derek’s forehead.

“Maybe you need live in help,” he suggested, heading back to the bed to strip it. Derek closed his eyes. Now that Peter had come, he should get up, should do _something_. Instead, he fell asleep before he could make himself get up again.

~ * ~

Peter was gone when he sat up, and it was now completely dark.

Derek yawned, scrubbing at his eyes. More often than not, he would wake up disoriented after sleeping away the day. And he was still tired.

He stood up finally, blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stumbled back to his bed. Peter had apparently been at the apartment long enough to wash and dry all the bedding and remake the bed.

Derek needed to stay upright and work on some of his projects for work. If he crawled back into bed, he knew he’d sleep until at least midday tomorrow.

He yawned again, scratching at his head, his beard, one ear. He found the laptop shoved under the bed and carried it to his desk.

Sitting down, he opened the lid, stifling yet another yawn. He was too tired to be working, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the amount of sleep he’d been getting and more to do with the way he was not rested even after twenty hours of sleeping.

While the computer booted, Derek used the restroom and brushed his teeth, scraping at the fuzzy feeling of his tongue. He gargled quickly and then went in search of a clean drinking cup for some water.

Peter must have been feeling especially gracious because the pile of dishes that had been sitting in Derek’s kitchen sink for nearly three weeks was stacked neatly, clean and sparkling, in the dish drainer. Derek stared at his changed kitchen. Trash that had been piling for almost six months was gone. His fridge, when he checked, was cleared of random foodstuffs he hadn’t touched in months. It wasn’t stocked by any means, but Derek could take care of that tomorrow…when he woke up.

For now, he drank his water and headed back to his computer.

His email inbox was so full it made him feel sick to think of responding to everyone.

Thankfully, when he mustered the courage to look, most of the emails were from Laura pestering him about coming in to the office.

Derek chose one at random and sent the word “NO.” Then he deleted each and every one of them.

When he was done with that, instead of six hundred emails, he had about forty. Much more manageable.

Except, now he was even more exhausted than when he started, so he shut the computer down and climbed back into bed.

This time, he kept tossing and turning, dreaming again of the moment he killed the hunter. Dreaming that she took him with her and of the relief that would bring.

~ * ~

The next few days, Derek made himself get up and sit at the desk, working through the various projects that Laura kept assigning him.

He managed to stay awake for thirty-seven hours before he crashed, drooling all over his computer for a few hours before jerking awake with a crick in his neck.

He stood up and stretched until his back popped. Laura was threatening to visit again if he couldn’t prove that he was still functioning. And Peter had uncharacteristically sent an email saying to make sure his elevator was fixed within a couple of days. Derek responded that the elevator was fine. He decided he liked when his uncle visited because Peter hadn’t cared that his eyes were different, if he’d even seen them, or that Derek was changed. He was still his uncle, in turns kind, like a few days ago, and distant. If it got Laura off his back, Derek was more than willing to let Peter in. Maybe, someday, he could be as kind to Laura.

Derek shuffled into the kitchen and downed several bananas. He drank half a gallon of orange juice, and then, with his energy, he tied off the trash and dragged it to the curb.

Surprisingly, he still felt aware enough to take a shower.

By the time he got out, dripping because he couldn’t find a clean towel, there was a large envelope on his desk and an unspooled ball of yarn tangled around his living room.

Derek frowned, plucking at the string. It was blue.

He grabbed the envelope, tearing it open, revealing a note from Peter.

 _Dear Derek,_ it read, _forgive me for not staying, but I had some other unattended business that required my attention. Who knew Laura liked Italian? Anyway, I have recently noticed the sad state of your apartment and feel it would be greatly updated with a very generous gift on my part. Please enjoy and don’t forget to shower. Love, Uncle Peter._

Derek tossed the letter onto his desk, frowning down at the string still in his hand. This was Peter’s gift? 220 yards of mess?

He began winding it around his hand, watching detachedly as the tangled loops dragged against the floor with a soft _shush._ By the time he had a large ball in his hands, he could feel his strange energy fading and he halfway entertained the idea of leaving the rest of the yarn on the floor for Peter or Laura to deal with the next time they visited.

But it felt nice to have done something, even if was just one bag of trash. Even if it was just undoing Peter’s attempt at motivating him.

Besides, it would be easier to ignore the yarn when it was contained in one spot instead of all over his apartment.

It took nearly half an hour before Derek found the other end of the skein. It was stuck in his elevator. He recalled Peter’s request, opening the door to retrieve the rest of the yarn.

“About damn time,” someone said, and Derek stumbled back, hand clutched to his chest, fangs and claws out. The person, a young man, maybe a few years younger than Derek, brunet, snappish eyes, bowed mouth, stared back at him, arms crossed over his chest. “Well?” he said, ears and tails flicking back and forth. A werecat.

Derek shook his head. “Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in? I am your new roommate after all.”

Derek snorted. “I don’t need a roommate.”

The man glanced around, eyes narrowed. “Obviously. Now, where’s my room?”

“What room?” Derek looked around his apartment, trying to see it as if for the first time: his desk positioned by the largest window, his bed by the other window, his couch and a recliner he’d rescued from a yard sale a couple years ago in the middle of the room, a throw rug Derek would never admit to liking, and a single bookshelf crammed with every single novel or research book he had ever read before his sudden extreme disinterest in all things he used to love doing.

It was sparse but not bare. It was home. Derek did not like the way the man’s nose scrunched as he studied the naked walls, the cement floor.

“It’ll do,” he finally said. “My name is Stiles. You must be Derek.”

“What did my uncle tell you?”

“Your uncle? You mean Peter. Well, other than that you’re a sad sack who needs a little help back onto your feet, nothing.”

“I’m not a sad sack,” Derek protested. Hurt, he set the yarn down on his desk, picking up Peter’s note. He reread it, trying to find where it mentioned that he was supposed to share his space, not an easy feat for a werewolf.

Stiles could not be Peter’s generous gift, could he?

“You can’t gift people,” Derek mused.

“No,” Stiles agreed, softly. “I’m a professional companion. My services can be purchased and then gifted.”

Derek set the letter down again. He rolled his shoulders, trying to disperse the tension suddenly pinching them. He sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed. This time to hide rather than to sleep. “I’m sorry that my uncle has played such a cruel trick on you,” he apologized to Stiles. “I don’t need a companion.”

“That’s what they all say.” Stiles moved around the room, randomly touching Derek’s things. He paused at the bed, frowning down at the rumpled sheets. Derek had long passed embarrassment for not being tidy. It was more important to him that he dealt with his lingering ailments than make himself presentable for his judging sister.

Stiles was uninvited and unwanted. His opinion ranked even lower than Laura’s.

“Okay, so I need a room,” Stiles said. He eyed the staircase appreciatively. “Is there another room up there?”

Derek shrugged. There was, but he hadn’t been upstairs since he’d moved in, the idea of dragging his bed up the spiral staircase exhausting even before he’d been attacked by the hunter.

If Stiles wasn’t going to leave, then he could live up there. The loft was large enough for the both of them, and Peter was going to be surprised that Derek’s aggressive streak, cultivated carefully by Peter when Derek was fifteen, a cruel experiment Peter was still trying to make amends for, was all but gone.

Sure, Derek was petty, but if pushed hard enough, aside from disabling his elevator (and breaking his stairs) to make it inconvenient for Laura to get to him, he would roll over, belly and throat exposed to the stronger, better wolves.

Stiles, if Derek concentrated, was nothing more than a werecat—less aggressive or territorial than werewolves in general. He could see the ears and tail fade into a faint aura. He was certain that Stiles could see his own wolfish aura but Derek was too polite to mention anything to Stiles and Stiles didn’t seem to care at all.

Perhaps this arrangement could work out after all. Maybe it would even get Laura to leave him alone.

Trust Peter to give a gift, the gift of companionship in the form of someone Derek had never seen before, and have it backfire spectacularly.

Derek grinned to himself, not even thinking about how it was the first time he had smiled in nearly six months.

Stiles wandered into the kitchen, digging through the fridge. “Your food sucks,” he called back. Derek tossed him the phone in answer.

“There’s a neat grocery store two blocks over,” he said. “They deliver.”

“So does the pizza place on Main.”

“No pizza,” Derek growled. It wasn’t that he didn’t like pizza—in fact, pizza would have been more fun to eat than an entire bag of pears and a ripening bunch of bananas—but Derek didn’t want to hate himself even more than he already did.

Laura thought he was only depriving himself, but food was the one thing Derek truly felt he had control over, and he wasn’t ready to relinquish it. Besides he didn’t want to deal with the increased amount of trash that would come from ordering premade food.

“The grocery store or nothing,” he said to Stiles and then threw himself on his bed, all energy gone.

He buried his head under his pillows but it didn’t stifle the sound of Stiles ordering an extra large Meat Lover’s pizza with stuffed crust. And a bed.

Oh well. At least the elevator was still in commission for now.

Derek went to sleep.

~ * ~

When he woke up, Laura, Peter, and Stiles were clustered around his desk.

Great. Now Laura would know that Derek broke his elevator on purpose.

The only plus side that Derek could find was that Stiles had eaten all the pizza. The only thing left was a faint smell in the air and a box thrown out with the recycling.

“Derek,” Laura said, icily. “Nice of you to join us.”

He didn’t respond, shuffling to his chair and sinking down into it. He blinked sleepily at Stiles sitting on the edge of the desk, at Peter standing next to it, and at Laura across from him.

“This is an intervention,” Laura said unnecessarily.

Derek could have guessed. She’d never dragged more people into it before, but he was not surprised that she had progressed since she’d failed all the other times when she’d been alone.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked, trying to ignore the way that his heart was the only thing awake about him, trying its darndest to beat right out of his chest when three sets of glares turned on him.

“You need help, dude,” Stiles said. His ears and tail twitched into sight, fading quickly when both Laura and Peter turned to him. “Hey, you brought me here for a reason. If that reason is getting your relative to stop being so sad, then, hey, job accomplished, right?”

“And I suppose you have all the answers?” Laura demanded.

Stiles shrugged. “Werecats are intuitive. Plus, my dad’s a sheriff. We Stilinskis are good at solving puzzles.”

Derek wondered if he should feel hurt that he had been reduced to a puzzle. He opened his mouth to protest, or explain, but Laura jumped to his defense.

“My brother is not just a puzzle, something to be solved.”

“Sure he is. Find out what’s wrong, fix it.” Stiles rolled his shoulders. “Simple.”

Laura drooped. “If it were,” she said softly, “then he would already be fixed.”

Derek dropped his head at that. He knew his behavior was hurting the pack, but the more they pressed, the harder it was for him to open up to them. Peter bringing in Stiles and then telling him that he was a “sad sack” when Peter could smell the guilt and depression hurt. Not so suddenly, Derek wished everyone would leave.

The lingering odor of the pizza was making his stomach twist and the thought of going through Laura’s intervention was more than exhausting. Derek was weary deeper than his bones, his soul aching with it. He let his head fall to the desk, hoping it was enough to make the others leave him alone and knowing it wasn’t.

Surprisingly, Stiles shooed Laura and Peter toward the elevator.

“You won’t fix him by doing that,” he said. Derek kept his face pressed to the wood, breathing in the smell of old ink stains and dead skin cells. “Give me a week. I’ll have him back to normal. Go.”

Derek doubted that anyone could return him to “normal.” What even was normal? Going through life cheerfully, waiting for the moment when his cubicle mate would turn on him, accuse him of being a werewolf, and then try to kill him because she was a hunter?

No thank you. Derek would rather not repeat that experience at all.

Before Stiles could implement whatever fix-it he was going to, Derek stood up and marched to his bed. It only took an hour of pretending before he actually fell asleep.

Living was taking all his energy.

~ * ~

When he surfaced an hour, two hours, a week later, Stiles had cleaned the whole apartment.

He hadn’t used cleaning agents, but he had opened the window behind Derek’s desk.

Sunlight streamed in with the fresh air, and Derek leaned out, trying to see if anyone—Laura or Peter—were scaling the wall already.

He couldn’t see anyone, but if he stretched out a bit farther he could almost smell something sweet with a sharp, aconite undertone.

Cold swept down his body, locking him into place as a woman, honey-brown hair, gray-green eyes, and a cold, bloody smile stepped out from the shadow of the building, raising a hand to point at him.

Kate Argent.

No. Kate was dead. Derek had killed her.

He couldn’t even blink. She waved her fingers mockingly, and then started climbing the wall.

Derek’s breath stuttered and whistled out of him. Lightheadedness threatened to topple him out of the window, and wouldn’t that be the ironic cherry on his fucked-up sundae?

Kate had to pass under a fire escape that stopped two floors below Derek’s, and he dreaded not being able to see her, but finally, he was able to unstick his muscles and slam the window shut.

“What was that for?” Stiles groused behind him, and Derek whirled around, scanning the room wildly.

Had he been fast enough? Kate slow enough? Was she already in here with them?

And then, he realized that Stiles had left the front door wide open.

Derek ran to close it before Kate could get in.

“What are you doing?” Stiles demanded.

Derek didn’t answer, too busy flipping closed the seven locks he’d installed after that night. He went back to the window and closed the extra locks there too before pulling the blinds closed.

His heart was still racing and he couldn’t breathe properly, but the fingers of fear still holding him began easing when he couldn’t smell Kate’s dreadful stench anymore.

He sank onto his recliner, head in his hands.

Stiles stood next to him. “What was that? What happened?”

Derek shook his head. He couldn’t explain even if he wanted to. He’d tried a million times, but the words always choked him.

Stiles sighed, and Derek thought he heard him roll his eyes too. “This is the instructions,” he said, apropos of nothing, dumping a thick binder into Derek’s lap.

The adrenaline was gone, and Derek had nothing left, so he let the binder fall. It opened to the title page. _The Purr-fect Companion_ laid on the floor between them.

Great. Puns. That seemed in keeping with Peter and his shitty ideas of gifts.

Stiles huffed, stomping upstairs and leaving Derek slumped in his chair.

~ * ~

Sometime later, Derek woke up with a jerk.

It was dark, quiet. The binder was still by his foot. He sighed, picking it up as if lifting the world with it. He laid it open on his lap. The first few pages were rules on what Stiles could and would do.

The next chapter was everything Stiles wouldn’t do. Sex was listed, and the relief Derek felt at that was palpable.

He had been terrified, even if he couldn’t name it then, when Stiles has called himself a companion.

Derek knew a few classmates who were now companions. Sarah from homeroom was married to a wealthy eighty-year old man and she had three-year-old twins and another on the way.

Michael from first period math would help older woman retain their vitality by fucking them.

Derek hadn’t wanted to be someone who needed companionship like that, and to find out that Stiles will do light cleaning, some cooking, and spend his evenings curled up, listening to Derek read was far more comforting than having to explain that he did not and could not feel sexual attraction long enough to perform.

Apparently, while sex was off the table, petting wasn’t.

And according to the information binder, Stiles liked getting scratched behind the ears and under his chin sometimes.

He should make an effort to be nice to Stiles. He should also make an effort with Laura and Peter, but it was so much easier to move in his slow, small circles with his predictable, safe schedule.

For now.

He hadn’t forgotten about Stiles’ promise to fix him in a week. Derek snorted. There was no fixing him. Kate had tried to “fix” him and it had resulted in this. Now Laura and Peter wanted Stiles to fix him too. Just how broken and useless was he supposed to be?

Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone?

Derek focused on the binder again, turning pages, trying to absorb the information. If he could figure out Stiles’ plan, then he could formulate a solution to it.

Or he could just keep plodding through life. It would definitely be easier.

Derek sighed, setting aside the binder. He stood, stretching. Blood rushing to his head knocked him back down, and he let his eyes drift closed.

A rattle roused him a few minutes later, and he opened his eyes to see Stiles standing by his bookcase.

“What’s going on?”

Stiles smirked before knocking one of the books to the floor. His tail and ears popped up.

He slowly reached for another book.

Derek glared at him. What had the books done to him? Why was he doing this?

Of course Stiles was a little shit. That was also in keeping with Peter’s gifts. Derek should have expected it. He didn’t know why he hadn’t.

“No,” Derek said.

Stiles just raised an eyebrow, tail swishing playfully. He slowly lifted one hand.

“No,” Derek repeated louder. Stiles didn’t stop. “No!”

Too late. Stiles used those long fingers to topple more books onto the floor.

He glanced at Derek, face blank as he reached for another book. Derek’s family photo album. The only thing he’d ever asked Laura for.

“Goddamn it, I said no,” Derek growled, striding forward to stop Stiles.

Even with two-hundred pounds of pissed off werewolf in his face, Stiles seemed unperturbed as he methodically yanked all of Derek’s books off the shelf.

When he was done with that, he climbed into Derek’s only chair, settled down, tail curled around himself, and went to sleep.

Derek should have ripped him to shreds. Would have too if he hadn’t been preoccupied scooping up his books and lovingly putting them back where they belonged before they sustained too much damage from Stiles’ show of…of what, Derek didn’t know exactly. Maybe it was a way to get Derek to pay attention to him?

The binder had said Stiles liked a good petting.

Maybe Derek was supposed to pet him?

Derek hadn’t touched Stiles since he’d been deposited in his apartment. Was that what was wrong now?

“Fine.” He shoved the last book back onto the shelf, stomping to the chair. “You can cuddle with me if it means that much to you.”

Stiles opened one eye. “Dude,” he said, bored, “if I wanted to cuddle you, you’d be cuddled already. I want pizza.”

“Pizza is,” Derek began. Stiles interrupted him with a yawn. “Fine. Pizza. But I get my chair back as soon as it’s arrived.”

“Whatever, dude.” Stiles curled up tighter, pretending to go back to sleep.

Derek sighed, shooting a glance at the ceiling like it would help him. Grudgingly, he dug out his phone.

It wasn’t until he was sitting down in his chair, a slice of pizza stuck on a plate he didn’t even know he owned by his elbow, Stiles inhaling slices almost faster than he could chew, that Derek realized picking up his books hadn’t exhausted him like it should have.

He narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “You can’t fix me,” he said. He shoved the plate at Stiles and marched to his bed. He crawled under the covers, pillow over his head.

~ * ~

Sometime later, Derek roused himself, dragging his body to the bathroom where he could relieve himself.

In here, bottles and cans were littered, split open, bleeding their contents everywhere.

He stared at them uncomprehendingly. The smells of them mingled, blocking out any other scents.

He should have heard this happening. He hadn’t really been asleep, more in a fugue.

“Stiles?”

No answer.

Derek flushed the toilet and washed his hands, stepping over an exploded can of shaving cream. “Stiles?”

Still no answer.

Derek’s heart tripped, and he raced to the window behind his desk, peering down into the late afternoon shadows of the alleyway.

Nothing there. The elevator was still closed, the panel popped signaling that it had been disabled after the latest pizza delivery.

The upstairs bedroom? Derek took the steps two at a time, bursting up into the small attic area.

The bed Stiles had been using was made, corners hospital-precise, pillows perfectly plumped. And no sign of Stiles.

“Stiles?” Derek whispered again anyway.

Downstairs, the floor creaked. Derek could call for Stiles again. Logic stated that it was only the werecat, but Derek held his tongue and breath, slipping back down the stairs as silently as he could. He was exposed, but hopefully the intruder wouldn’t be looking at the staircase.

His luck held, and he managed to step down onto the floor before the intruder came into view.

Derek gasped.

Kate Argent let a slow smile turn her lips into a grotesque parody of delight. “Derek,” she purred, gliding forward.

“No, you’re dead.”

“Oh, am I?” Kate leaned her head back, showing off a patch of rough, silvery scars across her throat. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I killed you. You were dead. Your brother—”

“Who, Chris? That idiot couldn’t tell the living from the dead. I’m sure he told you what you wanted to hear. I mean, you did just rip my throat out with your teeth.”

“Where’s Stiles?”

Kate’s gaze flickered. “What’s a Stiles?”

Derek rolled his shoulders. “I got a houseplant,” he lied smoothly. Something he hadn’t been able to do in the months since Kate’s death. He used to lie to her all the time, and look where that had led.

“And you named it ‘Stiles’?”

Derek let his fangs pop out, claws up and ready. “I killed you once. I can do it again.”

“Big bad wolf,” Kate mocked him, unsheathing a knife. “Let’s see who’s faster.”

Derek lunged at her, ducking under the swinging blade. He tipped too far, sprawling onto his knees and off his bed.

He sat up, staring wide-eyed around the room. No Kate. He scrambled up, racing to the bathroom. No mess.

“Stiles?” he called tentatively.

“Oh now you wanna talk?” Derek whirled around. Stiles’ ears and tail were out, and he hissed at Derek. “Put away your claws, wolfy. I’m not gonna touch you.”

Derek blinked. The hallucinations were new. “I saw a mess,” he said, voice shaking. Stiles eyed him oddly. “And you were gone.”

“And what else?” Stiles waved his hand. “I highly doubt a little mess and me missing would rattle you.”

“Maybe not,” Derek admitted, feeling a little shamed and not knowing why, “but I think I keep seeing Kate Argent.”

Stiles’ gaze snapped onto his face. “Kate Argent?” he repeated. “The rogue hunter found dead outside of Phoenix, Arizona six months ago?”

Derek nodded. “She used to work with me.”

“Did she attack you?”

Derek paused. Aside from Kate and himself, there was one other person who knew that he’d killed Kate. Chris Argent had found them just after Derek had torn out Kate’s throat and Kate had fired a poisoned bullet into his side. Chris had promised to protect him. And then, Derek had passed out from Kate’s wolfsbane bullet and woken up in the hospital too screwed up to survive and yet still managing.

“Yes,” he said. He put his hand over his side. Chris had healed him before he’d left with Kate’s body, but sometimes, Derek still felt like the bullet was in him, the wolfsbane traveling to his heart.

It made his depression worse, but he couldn’t explain to his sister why he suddenly couldn’t find the energy to do things that he used to love. He was punishing himself for Kate’s death because his whole life he’d been told he was a monster but he didn’t have to do monstrous things, and yet given an opportunity, he’d done the very monstrous thing he’d been assured he wasn’t destined to do.

“Do you want to talk to someone?” Stiles probably meant a professional, but all Derek heard instead of someone was “your sister.”

How could he talk to Laura about this?

How could he admit that he’d disregarded all the careful training their parents had given them and actually killed someone? He’d done his best to hide his changed eyes from everyone, but he knew Laura had seen them and he suspected Peter had as well.

It was why, he thought, they were trying so hard to “bring him back.” It only made it harder for him to feel human. His sister hadn’t been in his life every day even though he worked for her company. And his uncle hadn’t given two shits about him since before he hit puberty.

To suddenly have their “unconditional” love felt very conditional, but he didn’t have the energy to tell them this.

It was easier to shut off the elevator, let his phone run out of battery, bury himself under his covers, and let the world pass by.

“Derek?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and Stiles snorted.

“That is the furthest thing from the truth. Seriously, just let someone help you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Derek started, but he choked on the next words. Stiles looked at him expectantly, but no matter how many times he called himself a monster in his head, he couldn’t force the syllables from his throat.

Instead, embarrassingly, he began crying, ugly sobs ripped from his chest, snot and tears running down his face. Stiles’ severe frown morphed into shock, and he stared at Derek as if he’d never seen him before.

In a way, he hadn’t. Derek hadn’t broken down in front of anyone for years.

It made him cry harder. He couldn’t breathe, lungs seizing from the force of his sobs. Stiles moved then, arms wrapping around Derek’s body, holding him together while he shattered into a million pieces. Tiny glass-sharp, painful pieces.

Stiles walked them to the bed, helping Derek sit on the edge. He tightened his grip when Derek pushed at him, afraid that the pain inside him was going to hurt Stiles.

Werecats weren’t known for their affection, sharing the same perceived apathy as their housecat counterparts, and werewolves were tactile and needy, like their domesticated dog counterparts.

Stiles liked being scratched, and Derek hated being touched.

They should have been the opposite were-creature. Maybe Stiles would have handled killing Kate better than Derek had.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe,” Stiles said, still clinging to Derek. “Come on, breathe for me. That’s it.”

Derek followed Stiles’ example, forcing air into his lungs and letting it out.

“Can you tell me more about what you see when you see Kate?”

Derek shook his head. How could he explain what he saw? What Kate had said? How could he be the reason she was still alive, if she was still alive? He’d killed her. Chris had confirmed it.

She couldn’t still be alive.

She wasn’t real.

The mess wasn’t real, which meant she wasn’t real.

It was all in his head. He was…he needed help.

“She follows me,” he whispered. “She’s dead, but she isn’t. She says that even though I killed her, she didn’t die.”

“That’s not possible though. You’re a beta, not an alpha. Even if she was able to be turned, you don’t have the ability to do it.”

“She dosed me with something right before she tried to kill me. Some powder of some kind.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “And what did this powder do?”

“I don’t know. I lost control and when I regained it, Kate was dead and her brother was there.”

“But she’s not dead now?” Stiles sat next to Derek. “Or is that powder still in your system?”

Derek shook his head. “It’s been months. It shouldn’t still be affecting me.”

“Well, Kate was a hunter. It’s possible that she knew of some way to make whatever she did to you stick around.”

They both jumped when Derek’s phone, long thought to be dead on his desk, sprang to life, trilling loudly and vibrating at the same time. Laura must have charged it before the failed intervention.

Stiles dove for it and answered it before Derek could process the fact that it was ringing and that he didn’t want to talk to whoever had accidentally dialed him.

“Hey,” Stiles said, shoving the phone under his nose, “it’s Chris Argent.”

Derek gingerly took the phone. He hadn’t spoken to Chris since that night. What could he possibly want now?

“Hello?” he said tentatively, hoping, maybe, that his whisper was inaudible.

“Derek,” Chris said. No such luck then. “I need to talk to you. Are you at your apartment?”

Derek didn’t respond. Chris had been the one to get him away from Kate’s body, but he’d taken him to hospital. Not his apartment.

“Of course you are,” Chris continued as if Derek had answered him. “Can you turn on your elevator? I don’t relish the idea of climbing your walls.”

How did Chris know where he lived?

Everything slid sideways. Derek didn’t realize it was because he’d fallen onto his side until Stiles tapped at his face, barking words he couldn’t hear over the rushing in his ears.

Stiles, panicked, red faced and wide-eyed pulled back out of Derek’s graying vision. A few moments later, he was back, a glass of water in hand.

“Drink this,” he said over the roar. Derek shook his head or he meant to. Instead, his whole body jerked and he flopped over onto his back. Tears obscured his eyes. He didn’t even know why he was reacting this way. There was nothing frightening about Chris Argent.

Instinctively, Derek knew he could trust him. If he couldn’t, Chris wouldn’t have helped him six months ago.

He was still on edge from Kate’s reappearance, and slightly cold water from the tap wasn’t going to make things any better.

He managed to sit up enough to bat the cup from Stiles’ hand. Ignoring Stiles’ indignant squawk, he stumbled to the desk, sinking into the chair.

It wasn’t much, but it did make him feel better, more prepared. He turned to face the window, expecting Chris to climb over the ledge any moment now.

The elevator rattled to life, the car descending to the ground floor.

Betrayed, Derek turned to glare at Stiles.

The werecat wasn’t visible. Instead, Kate stood by the bed, a smile on her lips, eyes shining with malicious intent.

The dull roar returned, and Derek felt stuck in his chair, watching her unblinking as she stepped over the puddle the spilled water had made.

“Oh sweetie,” she purred as she moved closer. “Did you miss me?”

His tongue wouldn’t work, and he had no words anyway.

Where was Stiles? Could he see Kate too? What about Chris? What would he see when he walked into Derek’s apartment?

Kate? Or just Derek, stuck at his desk, pinned in place by a hallucination?

Kate leaned over him, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I’ve missed you. Missed this.” Her lips were dry, warm, familiar.

Derek gagged at the taste of her. Nothing new there then.

Kate’s hand twisting in his shirt, tugging him closer so that she could force her tongue down his throat wasn’t anything new either.

The dagger sticking through Kate’s chest was though, and Derek recoiled as Kate’s grip slipped.

“I’m not imagining her, am I?” Derek asked Chris.

Chris grunted as he jerked Kate away. “Yes and no.” He wrestled his sister to the floor, pressing a foot to her neck to keep her still while he pulled a pouch from his pocket, upending the contents over her.

Derek blinked and she was gone.

He stood up, gripping the edge of the desk as his mind spun, trying to find a logical explanation.

Chris tucked away the pouch and removed a pair of blue-tinted glasses from his face. “Kate somehow managed to tie her energy to you before she died. These glasses enable me to see and hear spirits, if you will.” He opened his jacket, revealing bulging pockets. He patted at a few of them before he found what he was looking for. The herb he thrust under Derek’s nose was completely unappealing. He grimaced at it, and Chris shrugged, slipping the glasses back on. “It’ll help with whatever my sister did to you.” Chris wandered off, either inspecting the décor or searching for Kate’s vanished body, Derek didn’t care.

He sniffed the herb again before carefully biting off a leaf and chewing. Aside from a bitter taste, nothing seemed off about it, so he kept chewing while Chris’s heavy tread moved from room to room. Derek got the distinct impression that Chris was only making so much noise to alert him as to where he was. Which didn’t matter to Derek. His ears were working again.

For now.

Chris returned, Stiles in tow.

“What happened?” Stiles was asking. “Last I knew, I answered Derek’s phone and then I was upstairs, on the bed. What exactly is going on?”

“Kate did something, made a deal with someone powerful in order to remain tied to Derek even after her death. Keep chewing that plant, Derek.”

He could barely taste it anymore, so it wasn’t a task to cram another leaf into his mouth and mash it into paste between his teeth. “Am I supposed to swallow it?” he asked.

“No. I’ll need it later. Just get it all chewed. I’ll initiate the next step.”

“And what’s that, sweetie?” Kate asked from the kitchen. Derek pointed at her, and Chris swore when he caught sight of her. She didn’t have the knife wound anymore. Probably because she wasn’t truly corporeal.

It was annoying. Derek pointedly bit off more of the herb. Kate sneered at him and then whimpered when Chris slammed a crossbow bolt through where her heart should have been.

“What’s going on?” Stiles demanded. “What’s happening?”

“Why?” Kate asked. “Why would you take the monster’s side?”

“For too long, I’ve been on the monster’s side.” Chris withdrew the bolt before stabbing her again. “Too damn long. I’m on the right side now.”

Kate gurgled, blood running down her chin.

Stiles snapped his fingers next to Derek’s ear. “Hey, big guy, what the hell is going on?”

“Kate’s real,” Derek told him through the wad of herb. He managed to fit the last of it into his mouth to chew.

“Kate’s real?” Stiles turned to stare at where Chris was loading his crossbow. “How is she real? She’s dead!”

“Yeah, well, my sister has a lot of surprises apparently. Derek, how are you doing with that plant?” Derek waggled his hand at him and Chris nodded. “Get ready.”

Ready for what, Derek wanted to ask. Before he could, he felt hands on his neck, fingers pressing in.

He bucked but could not dislodge Kate. She laughed, hands tightening. “This is the end, Derek,” she taunted. “You’re mine. I’ll finally get to destroy you. And the best part is, as much as Chris tries to help you dispel me, there is one thing he needs that he won’t get.”

“And what’s that?” Derek mumbled, wiping at some spit dribbling down his chin.

Kate threw her head back and laughed loud and long while her hands squeezed. “You,” she hissed in his ear. “Your death.”

“That’s enough,” Chris snapped. “Derek, the herb, now.” He held out his hand, and Derek spit into it.

“And what’s that?” Kate sneered.

“Mugwort.”

“As if mugwort ever hurt a human, incorporeal or otherwise.”

“Normally yes. But not when it’s been mixed with the saliva of a werewolf.”

“That’s just an old tale.”

“And one that works. How do you think I was able to get rid of Dad so easily?” He smeared the paste over Kate’s face.

Burning ghosts smelled a lot like sulfur, Derek thought, finally able to draw in a deep breath.

Kate screeched, slapping at her face as the flesh melted through her fingers. “You idiot! You’ve killed me! Again!”

“And maybe you’ll stay dead this time,” Chris said. He pulled out a crystal threaded onto a chain, swinging it over Kate’s head. A low, guttural chant in ancient Latin accompanied the motion, but Chris’ lips were not moving.

“When he’s done with his purifying ritual, you’ll have to explain what the fuck exactly is going on.”

Derek turned to Stiles. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but Chris is banishing Kate’s soul. More than soul? She moved you, didn’t she? You said you answered my phone and then you were upstairs. She did that.”

“How? And how is he banishing her?”

Derek rolled his shoulders. “Magic?” he guessed. “The same way Kate managed to bind herself to me.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Stiles said sarcastically. “So, we just wait for Argent to finish up whatever he’s doing and then, what? What happens when Kate is finally gone? And where is she exactly? I thought she was just a hallucination?”

“She’s there, in front of Chris.” She wasn’t much more than a puddle of gray goop now. Satisfied, Chris put away the crystal and then poured mountain ash over her remains.

Derek turned away. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” he said. He hadn’t had time to think when Kate was attacking him, but now that she was destroyed, he wondered why he didn’t feel any different, any better.

He still just wanted to curl up in his bed and sleep until the world outside was nicer, until he was healed.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Chris said. “You can stay with your sister or uncle, right? I’ll finish up here and let you know when it’s safe to return.” He pursed his lips before striding purposefully toward Derek. “Call me the minute you think you see her again. I don’t care if every time it turns about to be an overactive imagination or sleep deprivation or, hell, bad food. Call me. I’ll come. I’ll make sure she never bothers you again.”

He leaned in, wrapping his arms around Derek. A hug. Derek froze.

His skin crawled at the contact, but the longer Chris had his arms around him, the less it felt weird. It felt even less unsettling when Stiles joined in.

Stiles’ tail swished behind him before curling around them. Derek imagined it was just his ears, but it seemed like Stiles was beginning to purr as well before Chris stepped back.

“I’d better…” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Call your sister.”

“Come on.” Stiles led Derek to the elevator. “We’ll call Laura when we’re outside. No time like the present.”

He kept a firm hand on Derek’s elbow, as if he was afraid that Derek wouldn’t follow him. He didn’t have to worry. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Derek sagged against Stiles, the sudden relief that Kate was truly gone sapping his energy.

He didn’t remember stumbling after Stiles after the elevator deposited them on the first floor, nor did he remember sinking down onto a random bench while Stiles called Laura.

But he did remember when both his sister and his uncle pulled up and bundled them into Laura’s Camaro.

Derek leaned his head against the window, breathing deeply, Stiles’ tail wrapped around his wrist as he animatedly related the events as best as he could.

Not even Laura’s indignant questions penetrated the fuzzy haze that settled over Derek’s bones, and he let himself drift off, holding as tightly to Stiles’ tail as it was clinging to him.

It was nice, and that didn’t scare Derek. Maybe it should have. But he was glad it didn’t.

~ * ~

Derek woke up when Laura lifted him. Stiles’ tail was still around his wrist, and it didn’t seem like he was inclined to remove it any time soon. Derek found he still didn’t mind. It actually felt nice.

He didn’t want to examine the feeling too closely, afraid that if he scrutinized it, he might find a reason to tell Stiles to take his tail and his company elsewhere.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Kate Argent?” Laura asked, far more gently than Derek was expecting. “Why didn’t you talk to me? I’m your alpha. I’m supposed to be able to help you.”

Derek shrugged. How could he tell her that deep inside, in some secret place, he blamed her for putting Kate in his cubicle, for introducing them, for telling Kate that he would show her the ropes and maybe they’d be good for each other, wink-wink?

But more than that, how could he tell her that he knew it was his fault, that he’d given Kate some kind of signal or reason to go after him, that he’d lost control and killed her, that he still didn’t remember exactly what happened but he remembered the taste of Kate’s blood, and deeper, the marrow of her bones?

How did he tell his alpha that he endangered his pack and that the pack was saved by another hunter?

It was easier to just roll over and go back to sleep than face his family or himself in the mirror.

Maybe it was the wrong thing, but it was what was right for him.

Except now it wasn’t. Derek couldn’t explain the sudden surge of energy that caused him to sit up and pull Laura into a tight hug.

“’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair, apologizing for more than just killing Kate.

Months of guilt washed over him, and he sobbed, pulling back. Laura latched onto him, refusing to let him go.

“No. No sorries.” Laura fisted a hand in his shirt, hauling him closer. “Never sorry. Just, promise me that you’ll try.”

Derek didn’t know what trying meant, but surely it couldn’t be worse than what he’d been doing already. He nodded. “I promise,” he said thickly. “Whatever you need.” He wasn’t ready to return to work, so he hoped trying didn’t encompass that, but anything else was fair game.

“Therapy,” she said. “And for heaven’s sake, please talk to me. To Peter. To Stiles. To the wall for all I fucking care, but _talk_.”

“Okay.”

One word. Derek felt the world fall off his shoulders, and he wondered if it would all be that easy.

~ * ~

Things weren’t easy.

Jerri, the supernatural-therapist Peter dug up from somewhere he refused to divulge, thought that he was making great progress. She also thought that he was being too hard on himself, and she constantly reminded him that he was allowed to heal, even if it took years and years instead of instantly.

It’d been a full year since Chris had returned to banish Kate’s spirit or soul or whatever she’d tied to him. He’d been able to return to work, although he still ended up hiding in Laura’s office more often than not.

The contract with Stiles had run out, and surprisingly, Stiles was still around.

In fact, Derek was meeting him for coffee at the new shop down the street from Laura’s company.

Jerri was very pleased with the development of their relationship, that they even had one.

Right now, they were still just friends. Stiles settled something inside him, probably because he was a professional companion and knew how to physically touch someone without making them feel uncomfortable.

Derek arrived at the shop before Stiles and had time to order a straight black coffee for Stiles, a mocha for himself and two iced donuts.

He’d already finished his donut by the time Stiles sank into the seat across from him. “So, how was your appointment?”

“It was good. Jerri was nice. She thinks that I’ve made a lot of progress.”

“You have.” Stiles tipped his mug back and drained it in one go. Derek grimaced at the thought of him drinking the bitter liquid. And then smiled when Stiles immediately crammed half his donut in his mouth.

They spoke of a few more inconsequential-consequential items. Jerri liked to call it their “getting to know each other time” and she encouraged Derek to participate more than just grunting whenever Stiles said anything.

“Work’s still going okay?” Stiles asked suddenly.

Derek rolled his shoulders. “Could be better,” he admitted, “but I’ve been at the office every day for the last two weeks.”

“Really? That’s awesome!” Stiles stuck his hand up for a high five, and despite the burning flush Derek felt sweeping over his face, he obligingly slapped their palms together with an audible clap.

For some reason it made Derek giggle, which he tried to hide by stealing the other half of Stiles’ donut. When he protested, Derek pointed out that he’d bought the drinks and food.

“So this is a date, is that it?” Stiles asked. “Next time it’ll be my turn, huh?”

The flush returned and brought its cousin, butterflies in the stomach.

“Yes?” Derek fixed his gaze on the donut so that he wouldn’t have to see Stiles’ face. He could still hear his heartbeat though, and it picked up, double-tapping inside Stiles’ chest. “I mean, only if you want.”

“I have to say, I have been enjoying our outings, and I wouldn’t mind the obvious escalation to making it exclusive. Just let me know what you’re comfortable with and we’ll go from there.”

They chatted for a little longer, Derek still holding Stiles’ donut while Stiles stole the rest of Derek’s mocha. And then, Stiles sat up, smiling fondly at Derek as his ears popped into view. Something was up. Derek realized he didn’t mind. In fact, he was looking forward to whatever Stiles had planned. It was almost dinnertime, and Stiles loved a lot of the restaurants here.

“So this was nice,” Stiles said, smile turning a little mischievous as his tail curled around Derek’s calf. “We’ll definitely have to do this again sometime.”

“You mean like right now?” Derek returned, his own smile edging into pleased. Dinner with Stiles was always a treat. And now that they were dating—were they really?—it’d be even more fun. Or so he hoped. He let his fangs drop, using them to carefully scrape the last of the icing from the donut. He set it back on Stiles’ plate. “Let’s go.”

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted at [my Tumblr](www.1989dreamer.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading and thank you again to NadiaHart for the prompt--it was a lot of fun to write it. . .when I actually got down to it. Thanks for your patience.


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